Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Harry's cheeriness though, unbeknownst to Malfoy, was more facade then he'd care to admit. He made a miscalculation and it almost got him and his friends in serious trouble, not to mention it was dangerous. Had he been alone, it would have been less of a big deal. Maybe it was his more John like side, but if he had let Ron, or Hermione or Neville get hurt, he wouldn't have forgiven himself. That being said, there was still some joy in him. It was like a new case. There was something to solve at Hogwarts, when he had almost given up hope anything truly interesting would happen.

In the meantime, Harry filled Ron in about the package that seemed to have been moved from

Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.

"Or both," said Harry.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron. Ron said she was a bossy know-it-all, and that they were better off, but he was intrigued by her intelligence. It was rare someone his age was so bright. However, for the time being, that wasn't really important. All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel. Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody

knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood

will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your

first training session.

Professor M. McGonagall

The parcel itself had a return address written on it to Mycroft's home, which made Harry wonder how the man even found out about this. Still, it surprised him very little that Mycroft would purchase a broom for him, the best model at that. Despite it all, there did seem to be some fascination in his uncle with the sport. Harry maintained a perfect poker face as he handed the note to Ron, before cleaning up the mess a bit that the broom landing made.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even touched one."

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them." Ron couldn't resist it.

"It's not any old broomstick," he said, "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Harry. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus.-" Harry put a hand up to cut Ron off.

"I have express permission from the teachers including Dumbledore himself. I'm not at liberty to disclose why at the moment, but well, let's just say I couldn't have done it without your help." Harry's smug attitude was most obvious at the end, but still, his words were cold, lifeless, and analytical. He was done catering to Malfoy's desires to get him in trouble.

"What would either of you know about a broom like that anyways? You, Potter, grew up with muggles, and Weasley couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he added with a smirk.

Harry and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion.

"Well, it's true," Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team. . . ."

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

"It's not. It rewarding my skills, which fortunately revealed themselves as I was breaking the rules. Had they not I doubt I would still be here." He stated. "Furthermore, I understand you're upset about that night, but no one is more upset with it then me. It was a severe miscalculation in trusting Malfoy at his words, and it nearly got both of you and Neville in trouble or hurt. Not to mention my father would be furious if he ever found out I let someone like that get to me and that I was so gullible." He said, and her face softened.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Ron. "Don't stop now, it's doing us so much good." He taunted, and Hermione stomped off before Harry had a chance to roll his eyes at his new friend.

"Like her or not, it's better to make friends then enemies." He said.

"Your father teach you that to?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

"No, my dad, the short blonde one. He's the loving one in the house. My father, Sherlock, he's quite cold and calculating most often." Harry said in a relaxed way. "It means every moment he's proud is amplified, and unfortunately every moment he's disappointed is balanced to that." He said. "Which is why no one must know what happened that night. Not if I can help it." He frowned, and Ron smiled in understanding.

"Dad's can be tough, must be even tougher having two." Ron's hand landed on Harry's shoulder and the dark haired boy smiled.

"I wouldn't know the difference, but I wouldn't trade it in the world." He said and smiled.

Harry had a surprising amount of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread.

Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. He'd never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling — he swooped in and out of the goalposts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

"Hey, Potter, come down!"

Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry landed next to him.

"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant . . . you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."

"Three Chasers," Harry repeated, as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball.

"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Harry recited. "So — that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn't it?"

"What's basketball?" said Wood curiously.

"Never mind," said Harry quickly.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper — I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Harry, who was determined to remember it all. "And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?" He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," said Wood. "Take this."

He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said. "These two are the Bludgers."

He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"Stand back," Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking his nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air — it

zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team — the Weasley twins are ours — it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So — think you've got all that?"

"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goalposts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Harry reeled off.

"Very good," said Wood.

"Have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asked, bluntly.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers, so don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers — I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

"I wasn't worried. It would be foolish of me to believe a school would allow something like that to happen, though knowing about the broken jaws is mildly startling... Forgive me, my father, not my birth father, the other one... He's a murder detective. It's natural for me to wonder how something could be used to kill a person. Makes me wonder how many murders were written off as unknown or natural deaths because of magic." Harry said pensively, but then noticed how Wood looked at him in a confused way. "My apologies, while my childhood was quite pleasant, I have experienced a fair share of darkness. Not much phases me anymore." He confessed with a timid smile.

It was the truth, while he was upset and blamed himself for nearly getting those he considered friends in trouble, in a pinch, needing to do so wouldn't phase him. Wood still seemed alarmed or uncomfortable, but continued with what he was doing.

Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

"This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages — I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep.

"Well, that's it — any questions?"

Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, and he was fully certain he would be able to pull it off.

"That Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

Between lessons and Quidditch, Harry was finding this place almost just as much a home to him as Baker Street. Both places were valuable to him, and the more he stayed, the more happy he grew, despite being so far from his family. Things only got better though, when Mycroft surprised him again.

A cellphone.

A genuine cellphone just like his parents had, but modified.

"Dear Harry,

Enclosed with this letter is a specially designed cellphone that should work within the confines of Hogwarts. I had it developed for you. While I know such devices are technically contraband, and illegal, I'm working on getting you a permit. It's taking too long however.

If something happens, anything at all, please call. I've had everyone's numbers programmed in, including Lestrade should you need him for any reason (At John's suggestion)

Please take care, and be safe

Mycroft."

Harry had to admit he felt pretty overjoyed at this, and started keeping the device on him. The robe pockets were big enough that it was easy to keep a multitude of things in there, and it made him start wondering if he should start keeping his gun in there too.

Normally he thought it the best to keep it locked away, but he was starting to get a weird feeling something bad was going to happen, and soon.

Halloween Morning, despite the feelings he had that something bad may very well be happening, Halloween so far seemed brilliant. The smell of pumpkins being baked into pies and breads and who knows what else wafted through the air, the ghosts seemed to be in even more jolly of spirits. Even though the day seemed well, Harry couldn't shake this feeling he had. Maybe something he had noticed but wasn't fully remembering made him think of it, but he decided to grab his gun. Besides, it would be kind of fun to see if he could go the whole day with it and have no one notice. Almost as if his costume was "Student without a gun".

Even better, Professor Flitwick announced that they would be working on a rather difficult but desirable spell. The Levitating spell. He was partnered with Seamus Finnigan, which he was mildly concerned about due to the boy's reputation. That being said he assumed the only reason there were partners to begin with was because Flitwick hadn't managed to get enough feathers.

Ron, however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to either of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived. While she seemed much less hostile towards Harry himself, Harry was rarely without Ron, and therefore she usually just avoided the two all together. It was somewhat disappointing. If there was anyone he fathered be partnered with, it would have been Hermione. Not only did he trust her not to be bothersome in her failings, to the point of setting things on fire or worse.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too -- never forget Wizard Baruffio,

who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was very difficult, even for Harry who had been studying the spell and trying to understand it since Flitwick used it on Neville's toad and sent the creature soaring through the air. Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it -- Harry had to put it out with his hat. Harry gave it a few goes. The feather moved, but his skeptical mind reminded him it could be the wind.

Still, there was no way he was giving up.

Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

The way Hermione tried to help Ron made him wonder if his pronunciation was a little off, and tried it how Hermione instructed. "Wingardium Leviosa!" He said, trying to be confident.

And the feather rose into the air.

"I did it!" Harry's excitement was softly voiced, yet it was enough to catch Hermione's attention. He couldn't have done it without her, and so he gave her a smile.

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face -- and was startled to see that she was in tears.

"I think she heard you."

"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

"Ron, that isn't very nice." Harry said firmly. "You're just annoyed because she doesn't want to get in trouble and takes this stuff seriously." Harry analyzed. "You grew up in this world, all your life magic was there. Hermione and I didn't, we grew up in a world where as far as we knew, magic didn't exist, and anything weird that happened around us made us seem like freaks." Harry said, his voice was firm, but calm. "So we take this stuff seriously. Incase you haven't noticed, I've studied just as hard as she has, and have been doing just as well. I'm starting to wonder if you only put up with me because of my scar..." Harry said, and Ron's eyes went wide.

"That is not it! I put up with your weird habits because you're fun to be around, you stand up for others, including myself, and you're nice." Ron said, his face strewn into a scowl.

"And have you ever given Hermione the chance to prove whether or not she's any of those things?" Harry asked, head tilting back as he watched Ron for his answer. Ron's mouth opened to respond, but Harry could see that his words sunk in.

"I... I haven't"

"Then maybe next time you see her, you should give her a chance."

Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone. Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of his minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet. Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll -- in the dungeons -- thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was something about all of this that seemed odd, but he could barely process anything as the whole hall turned to uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!" Harry furrowed his brow again.

"Professor, aren't the Slytherin dormitories in the dungeons?" Harry asked, and Dumbledore seemed puzzled for a moment.

"Correct you are Harry, Slytherins, please go to the astronomy tower instead. We will contain the troll and keep him away." He said, thought there was something in the way Dumbledore held himself that spoke that he knew more then he felt inclined to say.

Percy was in his element.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs. "Everything I've read about them is that they're incredibly stupid. How would he even figure out how to get in?"

"Don't ask me," said Ron. "Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke." This answer seemed to make perfect sense, but something was eating at Harry with all of this. They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.

"I've just thought -- Hermione."

"What about her?"

"She doesn't know about the troll."

Ron bit his lip.

"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But Percy'd better not see us."

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls' bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

"Search me."

"He's heading for the third floor," Harry said, but Ron held up his hand.

"Can you smell something?"

Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean. And then they heard it -- a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet.

Ron pointed -- at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

"The keys in the lock," Ron muttered. "We could lock it in."

"This is the Girl's Bathroom! Hermione's in there!" Harry exclaimed in a hushed voice.

Harry darted in and Ron followed shortly.

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

"Hey! Budget Anderson! Look over here!" Harry exclaimed. As the troll turned around, he squeezed past and over to Hermione. "Ron! Distract it!"

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to reach Hermione

"Come on, run, run!" Harry yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Harry did the only thing he could think of.

He shot the troll. He only shot the troll's shoulder, but it was enough for the creature to holler in pain and turn towards it's attacker. Harry wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't sure if he quite had it in him to kill the creature. He was only eleven!

Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand — not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club the giant monster had suddenly flew out of the it's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over -- and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

"Is it -- dead?"

I don't think so," said Harry, I think it's just been knocked out."

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Harry. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. Harry could only hold his breath slightly. How had he gotten himself into so much trouble since starting here. Sure messed up stuff happened at home, but at least very little of it was his fault. Now, he himself was getting into messes, and he wasn't sure what to do.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air, Harry himself barely tucking his bug behind his back. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He wished Ron would put his wand down.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall -- they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

"I went looking for the troll because I -- I thought I could deal with it on my own -- you know, because I've read all about them."

Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher? "If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry distracted it and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"What is this wound on it's shoulder?" McGonagall asked, looking at the creature.

"Is that a bullet wound?" Snape asked, and Harry took the league on this one, shrugging.

"Must have run into an unfortunate farmer." Harry said calmly. Snape didn't seem to buy it.

"Well -- in that case..." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?" Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go." They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should have gotten more than ten points," Ron grumbled.

"Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we did save her."

"She might not have needed saving if you hadn't been such a prick to her." Harry reminded him.

"Oi!"

"Well, it's true, you should try and watch what you say." He said.

"Anyways, what was that thing you shot at the troll? And why did you call it a budget Anderson?" Ron asked, changing the subject rather then admit his mistake.

"I'll tell you about it when we're somewhere private.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pig snout," they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

———

I am so sorry for the delay, I went through a bit of a depression and just had no motivation. But hey, I got it up eventually, didn't I? I also don't feel much like picking a comment, so everyone who commented on the last chapter will be the top commenters this week.

I hope you liked this chapter. It's probably the one I've been most nervous about so far. I want to change up the story more then I have. If you want to read Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, then I can promise you it's very easy to find a copy. If you want to see what I can do and you did enjoy this, then I really appreciate everyone's kind words and support. Like I said I was in a pretty annoying depression, and I still feel depressed sometimes (Luckily it's not a serious or dangerous form, I just feel lethargic and sad.) But I am a bit better, especially with the fall season, so I hope to get more into this.

Again, I'm so sorry for the delay, I just haven't been doing great internally.

So, my question of the day:

When you're having a bad day and feel unmotivated, what do you do to encourage yourself to keep going on what has to be done?